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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245882">GIVE IN</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emiko_Kiichigo101/pseuds/Emiko_Kiichigo101'>Emiko_Kiichigo101</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: Prime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, BDSM, Hurt/Comfort, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Passion, Romance, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:15:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,921</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245882</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emiko_Kiichigo101/pseuds/Emiko_Kiichigo101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet has just graduated from the academy, and is setting out for his first independent practice. He is both nervous and excited, but he is determined to do his best... As the trauma medic for gladiators in the Pits of Kaon.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Megatron/Ratchet (Transformers), Orion Pax/Ratchet, Orion Pax/Shockwave</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>GIVE IN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Plot bunnies invaded my mind last weekend, and usually around this time of year, I work on my MegOp AU. That will have to wait till Valentine's day I'm afraid, and you will all have to settle for some good old fashion MegRatch… … I know what I said.</p><p>This is just a mixed idea about what I imagined Ratchet's life was like before becoming an Autobot and how his relationships started with both Optimus (Orion at the time of course) and Megatron. A little of TFP mixed in with some MTMTE so it is a little scrambled, but my test readers liked it, so it's going up. Enjoy, and let me know what you all think in the comments below. Have fun and Happy Holidays!!</p><p>
  <strong>GIVE IN </strong>
</p><p>Chapt. 1</p><p>There it was. The ever imposing and looming structure that was hereby known as The Fighting Arena of Kaon. It also had an underground and shorter name. The not all too subtle title of The Pits of Kaon, and it was now destined to be Ratchet’s first station of medical field training. He stood in its daunting shadow with an expression of indifference, but even in his professionalism he found his tanks gently turn in light duress. He tried to tell himself he was just nervous in performing as a trauma medic alone for the first time, but truthfully Ratchet was actually scared. Not of the underclass of Kaon, the medic was once a result of charity himself. Ratchet understood the hardships of social struggles quite well, but his concerns stemmed to something much more personal. He feared he wouldn’t be good enough to provide what many of these lower class citizens truly needed most.</p><p>The objective of Ratchet’s assignment was to be the designated medic for the gladiators that needed aid after a fight (if they survived the brutal battling to begin with). He actually had the mindset to start an underline treatment facility for bots that could not afford the high end services of the upper Iaconian facilities. It was not unheard of, and though not legal, such practices were generally looked over. This raised more issues with malpractice facilities opening in random seditious locations around the unfortunate city. Some at least tried to provide with little they had in both medical knowledge and material possession, but others were there to merely profit on the less fortunate. Hundreds, if not thousands of Cybertronians have lost their functions in a desperate attempt to save themselves with a supposed cure all, or alleged miracle surgery. The worst of the worst were the chop-shops claiming to be a safe place of refuge, but instead tore innocent bots apart and sold their bodies over the black market or for scrap.</p><p>Becoming the medic for the Pits was always at the bottom of the list for academy graduates looking for their first taste of independent practice. Most graduates found working in such seedy conditions to be beneath them. Everyone in Ratchet’s class was very surprised to see that it was actually the first position taken once the openings were first posted. However, none were shocked to discover Ratchet to be the one to take it. The white bot could hear the under the breath scoffs and optics rolling as he made his last trek out of the academy, since so many bots thought out loud that he was just wasting his time. That being the case, Ratchet didn’t waste his exhaust explaining or defending himself and just left without fanfare. His arrival to his future assignment had left him confused, short of air in his vents, and dry mouthed. He thought he would be more prepared for what was to come, but the general presence of the arena left him frozen in one place. For how long? Ratchet couldn’t tell, but it was long enough for him to lose track of his surroundings. He didn’t see the young mechs rushing to get pass him until one of them ran into him. He managed to stay on his pedes despite the force of the blow to his back. The red and blue bot that smacked into him wasn’t so fortunate and face palmed into the street.</p><p>“Confounded young mechs!” Ratchet scolded the stranger as he straightened himself up and brushed off his new tool kit. A gift given to him by his mentor Thunderclash, so it was highly coveted by him. “I hope you kissed that soft steel good with your dentalplates, you little—! Kid? Hey? Are you okay?”</p><p>“F-Fine…” The flat mech mumbled into the ground, too shy to move at all. “Just… A little embarrassed.”</p><p>“Primus on a raft…” The medic’s kind nature trumped his need to feel irritated and he knelt beside the young model. Gently he turned the stranger around and onto his side, then pulled him into an upright seated position. The smaller mech covered his face with his surprisingly large black servos. It was obvious he was blushing as a light blue hue glistened between his digits. Normally Ratchet would find such childish behavior to be trivial, but somehow, he found the young models innocence to be enduring. “Did you hurt yourself?”</p><p>“No… N-Not really.” Ratchet’s temporary patient mumbled through his palms. “I may have bruised my pride a little.”</p><p>The medic chortled in his throat, surprised by his own reaction. “You hit the ground rather hard. Let me see your faceplate and make sure you didn’t crack any metal.”</p><p>Shivering servos slowly slipped down the silver metal. The tips of the younger mech’s digits slowly revealed the standard blue for his optics. The pattern of his irises were common, but they spun in a sweetly curious pattern. Ratchet smiled when their gazes locked. He was seldom used to seeing such a hue of purity in a bot’s eyes. He took note of the small beads of tears forming around the coolant ducts, so there was a chance the kind-eyed mech was in some sort of pain.</p><p>“Come now…” The medic’s smile brightened, and he placed his own servo gently over his patients wrist. His light grasp was warm and comforting and it only made the red and blue mech’s blush glow brighter. “Just a little further. Let me see?”</p><p>“Um… Alright…” The large black hands finally slid down and away from a prominently trimmed faceplate. It was much clearer to see that this young mech was not from this side of the tracks. His blue helmet was decorated with silver ornaments and grills that were commonly adorned by the mid-upper class. Not that Ratchet was one to talk, he now wore the same type of accessories around his armor. Of course, seeing the occasional high society patron at the Pits was not unheard of. It was even expected considering how insane and perverted some of them were. But there was just something about this mech that didn’t fit with this place. “Is… Something wrong?”</p><p>“Huh?” Ratchet didn’t even realize he was staring, but somewhere along the line he got lost in his thoughts. He huffed at himself as he set his kit to the side and opened one of the side panels. “No. Nothing is wrong. You do have a small cut on your cheek-plating. I’ll clean it up for you then send you on your way.”</p><p>Both bots remained quiet as Ratchet added sterile solution to a ball of cloth-mesh with routine practice. His patient naturally winced when the mesh was applied to the open scratch, but when the sting settled, he found himself entranced with how focused the white and red mech was. Steely optics carried warmth with his stare and his servos looked rugged but moved with such a poetic precision it was mesmerizing.</p><p>“Are you a doctor?”</p><p>“No, not really.” He answered the question straight forward without breaking his concentration. “I’m a trauma field medic. Or I will be after my last assignment to my academy training is complete.”</p><p>“Then if I am not mistaken, you will be the medic for the gladiators?” This young one was perceptive. Not that it was difficult to piece together that Ratchet was a medic heading for the Pits, but that he even had the courage to ask in the first place. Most Cybertronians would shy away from such a topic and forming the excuse that it just wasn’t their business to pry, instead of admitting they just didn’t want to discuss what was not lined with their social norms.</p><p>“You would be correct.” Ratchet smiled as he withdrew and put away his sterile equipment. He pulled out a thin mesh dressing from the pocket before finally sealing it shut, and delicately soothed it over the cut, not leaving a single crease in length of the bandage. “There… Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”</p><p>“Pax!” A voice called in the distance, obviously trying to get the young model’s attention. “There you are! Come on! The best seats have already been taken!”</p><p>The voice belonged to another mid-class mech also brightly colored and festooned with decent ornaments. He walked up to the duo, both of them kneeling and facing each other with Ratchet’s servos suspiciously caressing the young grounder’s shoulders. The stranger stared at them a moment and quirked his optical ridges curiously.</p><p>“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”</p><p>“Shockwave…!” The red and blue mech, now addressed as Pax, bit one of his knuckles sheepishly. He tried to speak boldly in an attempt to scold his friend but was inevitably too embarrassed. “Please, mind yourself!”</p><p>The eldest of the current trio sighed but did not falter on his grin. Then he stood; his toolkit in one hand and the other extended to offer Pax to his pedes. The invitation was taken up quickly and apparently the seemingly shorter mech stood to meet Ratchet optic-level to his neck cables. It was the first time Pax could really take in the entirety of his healer’s appearance. His optics widened slightly at the broad and shining armor of the medic’s frame, and now Pax’s faceplate was saturated blue audio-fin to audio-fin. He could not explain why this kind stranger made him feel so flustered. All the young Grounder could understand was the sight of the medic made his frame hot, and the way his servo was being held made his Spark skip a flux. This stranger was definitely someone special, but Pax’s CPU was too blank to process how special he could really be to him.</p><p>“Paaaaa~aaaaaxxxx!” The third mech sang his inpatients while gently tugging on his friend’s shoulder playfully. “Lets goooooo…! While you were out here flirting with older bots, I managed to find my way to the box seat manager. He says he might be able to squeeze us into the third tier balcony while no one is looking!”</p><p>“Th-The third tier?” The sweet young model’s optics lit up in excitement. “Really?”</p><p>“Yes! The best place to see everything! But we have to hurry, or he’ll give them away to the next good looking bot with awesome leg struts!”</p><p>Pax stammered as he looked back up at the medic and was somehow at a loss for words. He wanted to get to the arena to see his favorite gladiator on time, but he also wanted to stay and speak more with the kind-sparked mech. All he could manage to whisper, before Shockwave finally pulled him away into a running sprint was a weak, “W-What is your designation?”</p><p>“Ratchet.” The white mech replied as he waved goodbye to Pax and not so much to Shockwave. “Be sure to take off that bandage at the match. It was nice meeting you Pax!”</p><p>“It’s Orion actually!” Pax shouted back as the gap between them grew longer while he dashed to the arena gates. “Orion Pax! And I’m sorry for running into you like that! I hope we meet again soon!”</p><p>Ratchet just stood there and gently waved; his smile wavering into a saddened grin. What more was there to say? <em>‘Enjoy the match?’</em> would have been highly inappropriate in his opinion since this sport was beyond unenjoyable to him. In fact, he found the spectators of this macabre game to be the most disturbing of all. So yes, Ratchet hoped he would see Orion again. If for nothing more than to ask the sweet young model, why he was so infatuated with the Pits of Kaon.</p>
<hr/><p>The medical ward was a wary mess when Ratchet arrived, and it was pretty much what he had expected. The grime on the wall would have to wait, and he went straight to the two poorly kept medical berths. Both of them were ragged and full of random tools. Everyone of them caked with filth and horrendously rusted. If it wasn’t something made of metal than it was glass tubing or beakers. If they weren’t covered in mildew, they were either cracked or shattered across the flat of the berth. It was a good thing Ratchet brought his tool kit, because it would have to do for now. Nearly nothing in the room he currently stood in was salvageable.</p><p>“Ungodly… That’s what this is.” He scrambled to clean the better of the berths. “And that is putting it mildly.”</p><p>He didn’t have a lot of time to properly sort things out, but the worktable in the corner, though small, was mostly clear. Ratchet took note of the few beakers and utensils that were still decent enough to possibly be salvaged. He took care to set them on the far end of the table so he might come back to it later. Whilst doing so, he discovered a shelf behind the dirty table filled with tattered cloths and mesh. Amazingly, they were all clean and sterile as well. “Good. At least someone has common sense around here.”</p><p>The white medic resumed his organizing and cleaned as the arena raged on in the background. Loud cheers and the thunderous stomping of pedes bounced off of every wall in soft echoes. The fanfare felt miles away at first, but then the announcements boomed over a loudspeaker above the medic’s helm.</p><p><em>“Femmes and gentlebots!”</em> A gruff and oddly eager voice shouted over a squealy audio system. The sound of the high pitch whine curled Ratchet’s audios, but he shook it off and returned to his tender tidying. <em>“Are you ready to be entertained?!”</em></p><p>A roar hungry to answer the question rushed around the building like an angry wave. The medical ward was close to the arena, but deep in its base, so there must have been a full house for the noise to be that clear. Ratchet wouldn’t know how large, nor did he care to check. In fact, if he could get through this experience without seeing the arena at all it would make his time here much easier. The voice returned when Ratchet found it fit to open his tool kit and examine his tools. He ignored the general tone of pomp and circumstance, not finding the announcer to be amusing in the slightest. He could hear the speaker gabber on about smashing and clashing, to carnage and mayhem and blah, blah, blah. Everything above Ratchet was all but faded away, until a new voice etched over the ceiling. One of the gladiators, Ratchet did not hear his name, took the floor. His voice, deep and filled with the right amount of passion that made the medic’s knees wobble.</p><p>
  <em>“Citizens of Kaon… Visitors from Iacon… Take in all that you hear, see, taste, and smell. Then remember how you came to be here to witness what I find trivial. Trivial, but necessary. Witness how I go on. Every fight is not for my survival alone, but for all who wish to see another day. To function is to fight, and I fight for you all!” </em>
</p><p>It was more gibberish, but that voice was so enticing it sent shivers through Ratchet’s frame. It had been quite some time since he felt such a thrill, yet this was the first time it felt so intense. Even his faceplate heated a little, but there was still no time to truly dwell on it. Work was to be done, and he had plenty yet to do, and plenty more to come.</p><p>The fight started with a sickening thud against the Arena wall. The shock of it rattling everything and anything not tied down. Ratchet was lucky to have sharp enough reflexes to catch a random beaker teetering on the edge of the table. He huffed as he shoved it back and further on to the table since he didn’t have time to really do anything else about it. It would just have to be another problem he would have to fix later, but to be on the safe side, he took one of the random beams on the floor and propped it in front of the multiple nick-knacks on the table. A plume of dust wafted over Ratchet’s helm after another tremor knocked it out of the ceiling. He choked on it a moment but wiped his face clean and composed himself quickly upon the sound of the final bell. The match was over, which meant the loser would be carted off to the infirmary where Ratchet would be there to greet him.</p><p>“Stop struggling!” A voice called out down the corridor. A real voice. An attractive voice that called Ratchet’s attention in the wrong way, but he shook it off quickly and returned to his reality without a fight. More could be said for his upcoming patient.</p><p>“Let go of me you fiend! I’m not done mopping the arena floors with your cycled Energon!” The voice of said patient griped like a child as he was practically dragged into the ward by another large and imposing silver mech. No doubt the large frame belonged to the first voice, and he had marvelous armor to match such a deep tone. Also, an obvious temper to boot.</p><p>“Had you spilt any of my blood at all, that would have been a triumph for you, no doubt. But you should be more concerned with your own fluids rushing onto the floor.” With precision, the bold voiced mech set his whining companion on the newly cleared berth, then stepped aside for Ratchet to step in. The medic wasted no time getting straight to work. The wounded patient was a decent sized lime green grounder with the appearance of someone with a higher class status than his obvious Kaon born opponent. His arm strut was crushed like a tin Energon can at the base of his elbow joint. To add more to his list of injuries, he also had scrapes and dents scrawled over his plating, and a gush of cycled Energon rushed down over his right optic. Undoubtedly, it was burning in his socket and though Ratchet didn’t appreciate the green mech’s attitude, he did receive a slight amount of pity for his pain.</p><p>“Be still.” The white mech said sternly as his patient continued to growl. “Unless you don’t want to lose that arm-strut and optic, you best calm yourself and keep yourself from fidgeting.”</p><p>“I couldn’t have lost…!” The green Grounder seethed but did as he was addressed and held his helm still. “These Kaon fights are rigged…! Fixed I tell you! I couldn’t have lost to such an undesirable, lowly, bottom feeding—OW!!”</p><p>“Oh I’m sorry, did that hurt.” Ratchet asked. His expression placid, but his lip-plates curled in irritation, and his digits pressed unforgivingly over the small head wound.</p><p>“Yes, it hurt!!” The reply was just as remorseless. “What kind of medic are you?!”</p><p>“The kind that isn’t going to coddle you in the light of your own stupidity.” The medic snarled right back and gave no more room for guff as he continued his examination. Ratchet smirked when he heard a chortle; a little glad to hear amusement from the victor behind him. “If you can’t even hadle that much stimulation, then you have absolutely no business here in the Pits!”</p><p>“H-How dare you?!” The squabble continued while Ratchet rolled his optics and turned away. He had a tray of basic materials already set out, and he was lucky he guessed right on the standard materials. Had this mech’s injuries been any more severe, Ratchet would need to scramble to get anything he might have on hand to save what ever limb was falling off… If it hadn’t already fallen off.</p><p>“Oh!” He stopped cold as soon as he was turned fully around, because if he hadn’t, he would have run right into the other gladiator. The silver mech was now in full view of Ratchet in all of his stoic glory. His armor was riddled with scuff marks and scratches, but was still bright with cheap, yet effective polish. The white mech came optic level with the center of the gladiator’s chest plating and he was close enough to fog the metal with his exhaust. The broadening of such build made Ratchet gasp, and he followed the length of silver up to a crowned and finely pointed helm. Almond shaped optics revealed bright red glowing irises that illuminated the base of his faceplate. Sharp dentalplates peered under a slim grin decorated with neatly healed scars lining parallel over the oral cavity. Ratchet didn’t even notice he was staring, but he found the ruggedness of this tall fire filled mech to be intoxicating.</p><p>“Pardon my boldness, doctor,” those entrancing dermas spoke fluidly and knocked Ratchet back into his senses, “but I thought I would make myself useful and take the liberty.”</p><p>“Huh?” The flushed faced medic glanced down to the gladiator’s servos and they were just like the rest of him. Large, imposing, sharp, and thrilling. Between the clawed hands was the tray Ratchet had set out earlier. It seemed miniscule being wrapped between the giant’s digits but was presented decently. He even took the time to collect a fresh mesh cloth and drape it over his wrist. Needless to say, the medic was very grateful and impressed. “I… Don’t mind at all. Thank you.”</p><p>“Hey! I wasn’t finished talking to you!” The upper-class bot roared in his up tight tantrum and Ratchet did not forget him in the slightest. Taking the tray and cloth he returned to the green grounder and let him have it.</p><p>“Yes, you are done! You are done fighting and you are done talking while I’m putting you back together again! Or I’ll send you on your way and let your arm fall off! Ah!!”</p><p>Without warning, Ratchet was snatched up by the collar of his armor and was pulled up to his patient so violently he dropped the tray. All of his vials filled with aesthetic shattered at his pedes, and the white mech could feel his waistline smash into the edge of the berth. He would have grunted, but he was too busy leaning his helm away from the seething and foaming dentalplates threatening to bite at his chin ornament.</p><p>“Who do you think you are?!” The fighter screamed like a wild mech. “You may look the part of an Iaconian, but I can smell that Kaon mutt in you!! Were do you get off speaking down to me like that at all!!”</p><p>“That’s quite enough of that.” The larger gladiator stepped in and subdued the rogue model with ease by squeezing the collar of his shoulder. “Your adrenaline is still running hot in your veins. Relax now friend, and the delight of battle will soon slip away…”</p><p>“I-I am not your friend…! I—Uhn!!”</p><p>“That is enough.” Ratchet returned to his station, a little shaken, but no worse for wear. “Let him go and let him lie down… I will give him a sedative to ease him back.”</p><p>Like a warm beam of sunlight steaming across one’s chassis, Ratchet regained control of the room. Calming those around him was a natural talent of his (it was one of the reasons he decided to become a medic), but often times he didn’t time himself well with its use. Yet, once his aura filled the atmosphere at just the right time, he found himself inherently falling back into his routine. The larger mech respectfully let his former opponent go, and even helped him lift his pedes onto the medical berth.</p><p>“Now just lie still, and let the medic take care of you.” The giant, now proving to be surprisingly gentle, patted the green mech’s chassis before stepping away. He walked pass Ratchet on his way to lean against the wall and bent down close to whisper in kind. “I apologize on his behalf… Please don’t take his behavior so personally. It really is just adrenaline talking… Mostly.”</p><p>Ratchet could say nothing in return. That feeling of hot exhaust rolling down the back of his neck cables made him shiver again, and if he spoke now in response, he knew his voice would waver. Instead he went back to his bag and refilled the tray. Straight away, Ratchet returned to his patient and administered a mild sedative for the pain. He spoke softly to the green mech as he made his servos useful. In turn, he learned that his patient’s designation was Spotlight (which somehow fit and also felt out of place at the same time). Small talk was exchanged between them and time passed swiftly. Before Spotlight could even acknowledge his broke arm had been placed in a vice, Ratchet had told him he was set to leave.</p><p>“That… Was it?” Spotlight questioned groggily. The sedative was still gripping onto him, and he hardly took note of how his beaten armor was now clear of his own cycled Energon.</p><p>“That was it.” His doctor smiled; the skirmish between them already forgiven. “But you will need to stop by a medical facility to properly weld your arm-strut right. Now up you get.”</p><p>After a few tumbles and stumbles, Spotlight was back on his pedes and being ushered out into the corridors. A feme was there on the other side of the doors. She just announced herself as the <em>‘escort’</em> for the losing gladiators and offered to take the bot off Ratchet’s servos. Since Spotlight did not object, the medic allowed it, despite it being against his better judgement. Medic or not, he could not control the actions of all his patients.</p><p>Returning to the ward, Ratchet prepared himself to clean all that was shattered upon the cold floor. Again he was amazed to find the nameless gladiator on his knees, contributing and placing broken glass on a now dented tray.</p><p>“There’s no need for you to do that.” The white mech knelt beside him to share in the responsibility. “I have yet to examine you after all.”</p><p>“No need.” Said the silver mech. “He barely laid a digit on me.”</p><p>“Either way I would feel more at ease if I—uh?”</p><p>He glanced up in time to see the glow of those red optics slowly transition back to blue. As a fighter, his irises must’ve changed color upon fury and might. Not a very common trait among Cybertronians, but it was fascinating for the scientist in the medic to witness. However, Ratchet felt his spark race as those irises drew closer and closer to him and clawed servo slowly crept into his peripheral vision. His optics shuttered closed not knowing what to expect. He could feel it getting closer and closer until something grazed the side of his cheek-plating. It was a tender gesture that swiped back and forward on his now hot metal.</p><p>“You… Had blood on your face.” The gladiator whispered. The sound of his voice also changing, and was noticeably as labored as Ratchet’s.</p><p>“Wh-What is your name?” The medic couldn’t understand why he was so suddenly aroused. Was it the excitement of his first taste of independent practice? His own adrenaline kicking in after being manhandled? For sure it wasn’t love at first sight, he was too wise to believe in such things. But he was aware of his own body, and it was shouting to him <em>give in</em>.</p><p>It was the very moment he heard the gladiator’s name that he properly withdrew. “Megatronus…”</p><p>“What?!” Ratchet sprung to his pedes. He knew this mech by reputation and the stories he heard, obviously exaggerated, still put the fear of Primus in the logic driven mech.</p><p>
  <em>“Megatronus! Return to the cages to prepare for your next opponent and your final fight for the night!”</em>
</p><p>The announcer rang over their helms with impeccable timing. Much to Ratchet’s relief. How foolish he felt as he backed away from the giant mech to give him room to leave. He knew there was a chance he would run into the fighter of legend and, lore but didn’t believe he would see him in the medical ward, if the gladiator was truly undefeatable.</p><p>“Excuse me,” Megatronus said sounding almost sad, “I have… Well… Duty calls, I suppose.”</p><p>“Yes…!” Ratchet dared not return a glance. Not out of fear, but guilt. He knew better then to be so judgmental, but he still fell into the lines of social rumors and stigma. His feelings of foolishness did compel him to extend an invitation that was half honest. “C-Come back after the fight if you can. Y-You still need to be looked over.”</p><p>“I will be back.” The giant smirked casually, and unintentionally frightened Ratchet more. “I return after every fight… Either with a wounded competitor… Or a cadaver.”</p><p>
  <strong>-END-</strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I currently have no Wi-Fi, so the majority of this was typed ony phone. No harsh judgments on grammer quality please. X3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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